


Apotheosis

by heartstone



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: And Doesn't Know How To Say What He Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Melkor is Enchanted, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 21:04:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13621647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartstone/pseuds/heartstone
Summary: Here the Mightiest of the Ainur kneels, bent upon one knee, His head bowed in silent reverence, His hair fallen to obscure His features as a veil of ever-black chiffon over chalky bone-white. From starless eyes spill the satin sheen of darkened verneration, an unlight from within their aspect that shimmers but is difficult to fix upon. His hands tremble when, burdened with the conscious, consider the sight afore Him as ever He reaches up.***There are no words for what He feels.





	Apotheosis

La Bonne Chanson XV

(Poem Excerpt by Paul Verlaine)

***

I am almost afraid, in truth,

So much do I feel my life entwined

With the radiant thought

Which took my soul from me last summer.

 

So much does your image, forever dear,

Live in this heart, entirely given to you,

This heart uniquely anxious

To love and to please you;

 

And I tremble, forgive me please,

For speaking so freely to you,

To think that a word, a smile or two

From you is now my destiny,

 

And it only takes a gesture, but one,

Or a sound or your eye blinking,

To set all my being in mourning

With its heavenly deception.

 

But rather, I only want to see you,

Even though the future were to be dark for me

And prolific countless sufferings,

Through a vast hope.

 

Immersed in this supreme happiness

Of telling myself again and forever,

Despite dismal returns,

That I love you, that I love thee!

***

Here the Mightiest of the Ainur kneels, bent upon one knee, His head bowed in silent reverence, His hair fallen to obscure His features as a veil of ever-black chiffon over chalky bone-white. From starless eyes spill the satin sheen of darkened verneration, an unlight from within their aspect that shimmers but is difficult to fix upon. His hands tremble when, burdened with the conscious, consider the sight afore Him as ever He reaches up.

_The melody is soft and slow, naught but a faint susurration. And yet, dew clings to His long lashes and a leitmotif emerges from the the humming din of background radiation._

His deity reclines in indolent air, yet ever-attentive afore Him. Ensconced on a divan draped in devoré, the cushions of feather-down and Ungoliant-silk frame him as columns do to a bronzed idol in a temple. How He lays His prayers upon him, a ceaseless entreaty, the cadence of His Fëa-beat adding to the loving murmur of he who He worships until their voices say much the same thing despite their antithesis: capering, hypnotic flames and thinning opaline crystal.

_The world blurs around the edges until it fades entirely; the incessant howling of the wind, the surveillance of dripping water as it filters through the marrow of the earth- all of it discolours pale in a bloodletting of sound and shape. All that He has now is the tempo as it throbs within Him and without: for His pulse is that of the divine that rests above Him, and His vision spurns all else._

His Maia's skin shone like burnished copper, lustrous, that ineffable fragrance clinging to his flesh and falling about him as from a censer. Held about him was the essence of purest aurum, a delirious luminescence that fought not with the darkness but courted it with a melting glow of flickering fire, drifting peacefully from haematic to orange-blossom honey. Flushed dark with his own heat, rose gold spreads over the dappled flesh of his cheeks and falls like the waning sunset to his collarbones.

His feet dangle from the edge of the divan, and when Melkor looks up as a cascade of praise slips from His pursed lips He pauses and cannot help the surge of adoration pulling at Him like puppet-strings, yet willingly, to cupping his heel and kissing the crest of the delicate bone of his feet and up to the crown of his gracile ankles. The Dark Vala does not feel shame in the act, in the light that catches on those hot, wet kisses that collar his feet- for the world has gone away and there is but one that matters.

_He is drowning, but He does not fight against the waves that lap at His senses. They overcome Him but slowly, and they fill Him, complete Him. He sees only within the nimbus surrounding their feverish bodies and the image of His Beloved. He hears only their mellifluous communion, the smooth theme of their connection. He is overcome, and does not surface._

His divinity leans down towards Him in response to His pious devotion, to the limb He still cradles, to the toes He kisses singly. Had He known which sacred parts of the woven rug below them had once borne his weight, He would kiss there too. Yet, His head is guided back by jeweled hands and long fingers that bury and dip into the inky shadows of His hair, and He burns but is not harmed by that supreme touch.

_He thinks back to when He fled from the Ainur into the everlasting darkness, hates Himself for missing the birth of the thing most precious to Him. What a fool He was to look in the Void for the Imperishable Flame when all He ever desired was actualized in His absence._

His Divine's foot falls back against the divan and there is a slight frown on his beautiful face, the plush curve of sanguine his lips. They do not move from their downturn, but his voice fills His head like magma, and when he speaks His name in that eddying lilt, it sears the Dark Vala's gut with sensual warmth and quavers up the column of His spine.

“What is troubling thee, Melkor?”

_‘Nothing!’ He wishes to shout. ‘It is thee and me only, and I have pined for only this so very long a time! I am maddened by thine gaze, that which pierces through me like I am glass, exposed and cracked in thine holiest of light. Thou hast doused me mercilessly with thine philtre, and I am weak before thee, Mightiest though I be.’_

He shakes His head because He cannot answer, and when He meets his blazing, all-seeing eyes it is just like He supposed, and His deity sees through Him, and drinks the emotion that synapses between their tight-laced Fëar. When the Maia shudders from the deluge of His passion, both cannot hold back a coveting sob, cannot help but descry that this feeling (this state of being) is infectious, and loyal, and passionate, and a certain carnal craving, and respectful, laced with desire, tenderness, intimacy, yearning, altruism, lust-- a fatal, all-consuming _love._

"Mairon!"  _Mairon! the name falls off His tongue, spills from His lips and drifts heavy in the air with His ancient voice._ Mairon crumples from off the divan and slips down onto the floor with Him in swoon, his legs folding on either side of the Vala’s own, their bodies pressed near, chest-to-chest, faces buried and tucked within another. With His religion in His lap He wants to confess, and when He feels the heavy draping curls of His Maia’s tresses and the redolence it brings- of curdling blood and fermenting wine, coffee maple and the residuum of forge-work: sweat and crumbling charcoal and acid on steel- He clutches onto him until they evanesce, until, for the first time, He lets His tears fall in a thunderstorm of ablution.

_Burn, burn, burn them all away! Tear apart all Eä with thine sleepless eyes! I will set the world at thine feet for thou deserve no less in thine infinite cunning, for thou command me, fill me with thine inferno. To perceive thee- even but a photon of thine light or a single amplitude of thine theme is to suffuse me with everlasting elation and to know thee, to touch thee, I am ended so utterly, rendered to my elements._

_My despair and my longing, my Discord so long abhorred, finds at last elysium in the burning waves of thine phlegethon shores._

**Author's Note:**

> A little something for Valentine's Day, I suppose. . .  
> Let me know what you think! :D  
> ***


End file.
